


Sheer Anarchy

by jujubeans



Series: Swimming: small experiments on avoidance, by Sherlock Holmes. [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BAMFY John, Feral John, Guilty Sherlock, M/M, Oral Sex, Suave Spaniards, Tenuous Speedos, hand-jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 14:23:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4104115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujubeans/pseuds/jujubeans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow another Tuesday has arrived - will Sherlock finally dip the toe?  John is determined, and so very, very bamfy...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sheer Anarchy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AtlinMerrick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlinMerrick/gifts).



> I'm sorry but the more I read of yours the more I find I must lay at your feet. AtlinMerrick, please accept this tribute, and one more to come...
> 
> This story stands alone but would be more enjoyable after reading the first two stories in the series.

A soft wind fluttered the feathers of the pigeon roosting on the shoulder of the bronze. From its vantage point it could see two rapidly moving heads – one sandy, one dark and softly curled. Beneath those heads an inquisition was in progress.

“So… no frogs”  
“No, John, no frogs”  
“Are we absolutely sure?”  
“Yes, John”  
“And no other amphibians of any kind? Or llamas? Goats? Cheetahs, wildebeest…?”  
“No John. No four-legged friends”  
“Right. Good.”

The two men stopped for traffic. Two police cars sped by, lights flashing. John watched Sherlock gaze longingly after them as they sped off into the distance, no doubt toward some grizzly crime.

“Sherlooock” John warned.

The taller man shook his head slightly, as if to clear it and meekly responded, “I know, John. I know I need to learn but you know I’ve kept my word – I haven’t jumped into the Thames to retrieve evidence for over a month.”

“I know, but perhaps I should have specified that the alternative to jumping wasn’t pushing the nearest copper in to retrieve it for you. Anderson’s still got Thames water dribbling out his ears and I’m the one getting the gruesome pictorial evidence in complaint.” They crossed with the lights and continued on their way.

For three Tuesdays now John had been pushing (and Sherlock had been pulling, like some demented tug ‘o’ war) his love into swimming lessons at the local leisure centre but to date Sherlock’s toes had failed to make contact with the water. John was determined today was the day.

He’d had a bit of a think about Sherlock’s resistance to the lessons and felt a bit ashamed when he realised that sticking an adult consulting detective in with a bunch of screaming kids was insulting to Sherlock. It was no wonder the man held on to his pride in silence, choosing to formulate alternate methods of avoidance. He felt terrible that he’d just barged on ahead with his plans without considering the bigger picture so he’d mentally revised and booked Sherlock into a private one-on-one lesson.

“Sherlock,” he started, “we need to go to the office first today to meet the manager. I’ve arranged a private lesson for you and she’s going to introduce us to your instructor before we begin, OK?”

Sherlock turned in surprise. “I’m not going in with everyone else, John?”

John looked uncomfortable. “No. I’m sorry. I should have thought it through a bit better before we started but I’ve fixed it and everything should go better now. You’ll be floating and paddling in no time” John smiled hopefully.

Sherlock, touched by John’s thoughtfulness, smiled widely and grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers and pushing them into his coat pocket. John felt the infamous red Speedos lining the pocket of the Belstaff.

“Mmmm. I’m going to be thinking about you in those Speedos while I’m waiting for you”

Sherlock felt his fingers twitch involuntarily against John’s. _Come on Sherlock, guilt is boring. No time for an attack of consulting conscience now!_

As they covered the rest of the distance I will tell you, dear reader, that pang of guilt was due to the fact that Sherlock had spent every hour John was away from the flat that week “preparing” those Speedos for today’s lesson. The preparing involved utilising various results of experiments on lycra, and how the application of bi-carbonate of soda and hot water, along with various gentle acidic reactant agents would inevitably – yet invisibly – weaken the integrity of said lycra.

All week Sherlock had been measuring, mixing, heating, dipping, rinsing and (with the diligent application of a hair drier) drying those Speedos. And that’s not all. Just to be safe he took a fine grade rasp to the inside surface of the groin panel, gently teasing the fibres into surrendering their elasticity. And lastly he used the edge of a nail file to threaten the integrity of the tensile strength of the side seams. And as tickled with himself as that made him at the time, in the wake of John’s thoughtful announcement Sherlock was nervously second-guessing himself.

As John would say, _Bloody hell._ Too late now.

”Come in, come in. John, Sherlock, this is Juan. Juan takes the private adult lessons. I’ll let him chat with you about your expectations”. The manager wandered off, blissfully unaware of the screaming silence she left behind.

Four things remained in the small office: three people and an atmosphere bigger than Jupiter.

Juan posed before them in all his cocky caramel perfection. John noted arms of smooth, muscled skin – were there only two of them? – legs that ended in a disgustingly perky arse, and a face made up of parts sensuous enough to melt pants. 

Juan? Juan? _Don_ Juan, John fumed. In John’s head the enemy was attacking via water, and he was the bloody idiot who’d sent him the co-ordinates. Well there was nothing for it – bugger the Army, under the circumstances he was going to have to commandeer the Navy. He was going to have to marshal some subs and a pissing bloody periscope to keep an eye on this _Don Juan_ while he had physical access to John’s sugar crumpet. There was no WAY Don would be allowed to grope his sweetie’s bounteous gifts!

Sherlock started to feel a bit awkward, which, for a man unused to noticing any kind of nuance in social situations, really said something about the ambience of the office.

He peered carefully at John. John was braced soldier-straight, leaning slightly forward from the heels, hands fisted at his sides, chin jutting out, eyes narrowed on Juan. Deduction: John a bit not happy.

He moved on to Juan and blinked. Juan was ignoring John and smiling widely at Sherlock, teeth parted to expose a bit of tongue, eyes raking up and down Sherlock’s body, eyebrows mobile as two randy caterpillars, cheeks pinking in arousal, shorts straining. Deduction: … _Shit!_

“Ah, John,” he started carefully, ”do you think we should explain that I only need to learn the very basics – floating and a bit of paddling – just enough so that I don’t drown John. John. _John?_ ”

Nervously Sherlock waved a hand in front of John’s face. If possible, John’s eyes narrowed even further. Sherlock swivelled to see why. Juan’s gaze was locked on Sherlock’s crotch. The suicidal idiot wiggled his eyebrows again, licked his lips and stuck his hand out in greeting. 

“Therlock, ith it?” Sherlock froze like a deer in headlights. Oh no, this was soooo not good. Juan had a Spanish lispy inflection to his English. He couldn’t imagine this was going to improve the situation any. In fact, John was going to go ballistic.

“I am bery much looking porward to inthructing you”. Juan managed to make the word “instructing” sound obscene.

John finally came-to and thrust out his arm to intercept the handshake. “Yes, well actually we _both_ need inthr – _cough_ – instructing, Juan. I’m going to need to be there, too. Yes. Definitely.”

Juan flicked his eyes between John and Sherlock a few times. “Oooookaaaay. Bery interethting. I thall enjoy to be inthructing you together, yeth?”

John simmered with bile. He wondered if this guy could make speaking sound any more like a sex act if he tried. He couldn’t believe he was paying for this.

“Yes. We’ll just go get changed and meet you poolside. Come along Sherlock!” John grabbed the elbow of the Belstaff just in case and marched them from the office to the change room in double-quick time. Sherlock scurried along after him.

“Calm down, John” Sherlock said cluelessly. “Despite Juan obviously being extremely interested in my physical charms I’m not interested in him, if that’s what’s irking you. I’m not into smooth. Smooth is boring. I like tetchy and bossy” he teased as they stripped down and changed. Apparently this was not the time for teasing, or pointing out the obvious . John’s simmer notched up to a rolling boil.

“SMOOTH?!” he yelled in the thankfully empty change room. “TTTHHHMOOOOOOTH?!” he mimicked nastily as he planted his hands on Sherlock’s chest and pushed him forcefully toward a shower someone had left running. “Why don’t we just pop in here and I can show you _‘thmooth’_ , Sherlock?” John hadn’t felt this riled up since Afghanistan.

This was the moment Sherlock had been preparing for all week, but unfortunately for him it was not exactly happening in the calm, controlled circumstances he was counting on. John had gone almost _feral_. He raised his hands nervously. John grabbed them and using one hand, pinned them up against the wall as he grunted and hip-shoved Sherlock’s back to the tiles. The other hand fell to the top of Sherlock’s head and slid lazily down over his ear and neck, shoving around to grasp his nape. John’s face moved in close until their lips touched and whispered menacingly, “I can be smooth, Sherlock”. Sherlock shivered.

Maintaining eye contact John moved his hand down to Sherlock’s thigh and scratched it upward slowly until he reached a rapidly hardening cock and gave it a good, firm squeeze. The hand slipped around the back and grabbed a palm full of bounty and squeezed again. Two very aroused boys panted in each other’s faces. Fingers edged closer to crease and pushed Speedo into crack. Sherlock pushed his hips away from the wall and into John’s heat. John started rutting against Sherlock’s thigh. He dipped his head and in his primal haze, sucked and bit at Sherlock’s neck, marking what was his. He leaned back to survey his handywork, feral lust clouding his vision… _There! Just let Don Juan see that!_ Sherlock could see the untamed glint to John's glazed look, the savage heat on his face. He looked totally unfocused, unaware of his surroundings and Sherlock huffed a nervous laugh and struggled prettily in his grasp.

“John,” he protested weakly, “you won’t like it if I go out there with an erection”

John froze. Sherlock's voice pierced the veil of fog, and he was right. The thought of that lechy Lothario seeing an aroused Sherlock was the only thing that could bring him to his senses. Chest heaving, he stepped back letting Sherlock’s arms fall, and let the cold water splash over both of them before taking two steps away to regard Sherlock.

“FUCK. ME!” John roared, as he stared bug-eyed at Sherlock’s crotch.

“John, please!” he admonished, “we’re in a change room” the little hypocrite had the audacity to murmur. The fact hadn’t bothered Sherlock one iota a fortnight ago.

Caveman instincts clubbing their beat into his head, John puffed up to his full five foot seven, fists clenching and unclenching he jerked his head at Sherlock’s Speedos.  


“Be buggered if Don’s going to see you like that!” A towel was hastily thrust at a red, transparent groin.

“John! What are you doing? And who’s Don?”

“Nobody. Nothing. Just get that towel around you, will you. We’re going out there, getting dressed and going home right now.”

Sherlock did a little mental happy dance. He had never heard anything more welcome. Under the guise of wrapping himself in the towel he lowered his head and allowed himself a small secret smile. His little despot was reacting perfectly. Lesson averted. He looked up with his most innocent expression.

“But what’s wrong, John? Why aren’t we taking the lesson?”

“THEY’VE GONE SHEER, SHERLOCK!”

“Sheer?”

“YES! Fucking see-through, Sherlock. How the hell can a brand new pair of Speedos go see-through in a week? They haven’t even been wet!” John reached out and pinched some lycra between his fingers to demonstrate his point and a side seam gave way with a _rriiiiip._ John blinked.

Sherlock quickly tried to distract him. “Shall we go home and discover just _how_ see-through they can get, John? You can tell me how many dicks I’m holding up… “ Sherlock continued to babble, seriously worrying the weakened seams had overplayed his hand.

But poor John was on overload, experiencing a whirlwind of emotions and had tuned-out Sherlock’s voice. The cave man club beat was pulsing away harder than ever as he continued to stare startledly at Sherlock’s half-exposed cock. But heaped on top of that was a maelstrom of feelings: relief, for one, (at not having to let Don Juan near Sherlock again) embarrassment for another, (at being about to walk out on a booking for the third week in a row) and sheer, bloody anger (what the HELL was wrong with the manufacturing industry these days, anyway?!)

Poor confused John tried to breathe. He checked his dumpling was fully dressed, grabbed his hand possessively and marched out of the change room slamming some notes down on the manager’s desk as he stalked past. 

“We’ll be requiring Juan less lesson than we thought. Sorry.” (sounding anything but), and rushed them both outside as quickly as he could.

Filling his lungs with a few cleansing breaths John forced his brain to the fore and… _deduced._ In short order he swivelled and headed them off across town.

“John, home is that way” Sherlock hesitantly pointed out. John looked determined, and a determined BAMF Army captain (even one seconded to the Navy that Tuesday) should be interrupted at the interrupter’s peril.

“I know that, but we’re going to the store where I bought those Speedos to demand satisfaction. I can’t believe the shoddy the workmanship on those bathers. The company needs to know that the public just won’t stand for it”

A consulting detective may have swallowed in alarm. “But John, we did have lots of fun in them last week. Can’t we just call it even?”  
“No Sherlock. I’m taking a stand”  
“Oh shite” he mumbled.  
“What’s that Sherlock?”  
“I said ‘Oh right’”

John grunted. As they walked the detective trawled his mind palace for a solution but, having never been in this predicament before, came up empty.

John pushed open the door and gestured for Sherlock to precede him. “Ah I think I’ll stay out here for a bit, John”

“No, no. I insist. I want satisfaction and I may need you there for that to… back me up”

“OK John” Sherlock said despondently. He worried his bottom lip with his teeth as he obediently entered the store. John placed a hand in the small of Sherlock’s back and led him past the racks of bathers and straight to the change rooms. 

He pushed a stunned Sherlock through a cubicle door and locked it firmly behind them. He started shrugging off his shirt as Sherlock watched in surprise.

“I told you I was coming here to _demand satisfaction,_ Sherlock. Now do what I brought you in here for and _back me up_ and give me some,” he growled.

Sherlock’s eyes bulged. He needed no further prompting. He backed John up against the wall and reached down for his belt. John closed his eyes and let the tensions of the morning wash away as he sighed and whispered to Sherlock,

“I knew something was up when your fingers started twitching in the street, my sweet” _John felt his jeans drop to the floor._

“When you started babbling in the manager’s office you confirmed it for me” _His pants skimmed down his legs._

“I was just too juiced-up on jealousy to put it all together” _A nose nudged his balls._

“The only thing stopping me from killing you, Sherlock, is knowing you planned it all before I told you about the private lesson – _ooh!_ ”

A moist mouth consulted his cock and found it in need of some major satisfaction. Sherlock’s head bobbed gently giving John much, much pleasure. John sighed again, dropped his head back against the cubicle wall and placed his hands on Sherlock’s head, caressing the soft curls.

“Oh how I love you, Sherlock. You’ll drive me absolutely barmy one day, I’m sure, but I’m fairly certain it will be more than worth it”. Sherlock hummed along his length and John smiled blindly.

“Get up here and kiss me, crumpet”

The crumpet arose and John opened his eyes and reached out to free it’s cock. He pulled Sherlock close and took both eager erections in one hand, drawing one of Sherlock’s hands around to cover them too. Together they stroked as they smiled at each other. Things got a bit pant-y and giggly very quickly so spare hands lifted to cover each other’s mouths. Hands were shuttling, bottoms were thrusting, noses were breathing very hard until finally, as John had demanded, _guaranteed satisfaction_ ensued. 

Gasping, John reached into the Belstaff and drew out the ripped, red speedos. “I think it’s rather fitting that we clean up with this rag you created, don’t you, Sherlock?”

“Yes John” he panted.

“Now, let’s pick up that lovely silvery-grey pair of Speedos that perfectly match your eyes that I spotted on the way in, and on the way home I’ll tell you all about the private lesson _I’m_ going to give you next Tuesday”

“You, John?”

“Yes, _me_. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it first-off. We just have to find someone who can let us use their private pool”

Sherlock’s eyes widened. “I think I may be able to help there, John. Did I tell you about the media mogul I once helped out of a tricky situation? One of his newspapers was involved in a phone-tapping scandal. He had this amazing property and told me I was welcome to use it any time…”

 

And as Sherlock told John about the case, the back of his tricky mind was already thinking about next Tuesday, wondering about the veracity of the claims on sex toy packaging, and just how waterproof ‘waterproof’ meant…


End file.
